Love You Like An Arsonist
by WickedAngel23
Summary: Ditched by her friends, and desperately seeking out a bathroom, Bella stumbles onto something she shouldn’t have. Something that’s about to turn her life upside down. M for Language & Lemons.
1. Welcome to Forks

**Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight. I do, however, own the plot of this fanfiction.**

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**1. Welcome to Forks  
_Beta'd by Fragile Human_****  
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**Bella.**

The homicide level in Forks was low, but Charlie had always been hopeful that would change. Not that Charlie wished to arrest any of his neighbors; it was more that anything that broke the monotonous day to day routine of living in green, rainy Forks would have been a blessing.

Me turning up on his doorstep, soaking wet, shivering and bearing a suitcase was the next best thing. For Charlie, at least. By the time he had ushered me inside, hunted down my mother's cell phone number and stammered his way through an awkward conversation with his ex-wife, I had resigned myself to a life in this godforsaken town.

If I'd had a choice, Forks was the last place I would have wanted to be, but ever since Renée had married Phil Dwyer, an extremely young, minor league baseball player, _my_ choices had taken a backseat. Suddenly, Renée wanted to embrace the life she'd missed out on by having me and go travelling with her new husband, which was how I'd found myself shipped off to Forks within seventy-six hours of her making that decision.

Three days after _that_, I was inhabiting my old bedroom, which had barely been touched since my last visit three years ago. The DSL line was questionable and the only television channels that Charlie bothered to pay for were sports related so I mostly shut myself up in my room for the last few days of the summer with my trusty Jane Austen collection. The only time I left the house was to buy groceries and a school uniform.

Yeah, Forks High was one of _those_ schools.

I sighed, smoothing down the nonexistent creases on my new red plaid skirt. I wished that I'd paid more attention to the sales girl when she took my measurements because the hem rose several inches higher above my knee than I was comfortable with, and my shirt was tighter than anything else I owned.

I stared at my reflection in the floor-to-ceiling length mirror on the inside of my closet. My skin looked translucent and sallow in the poor lighting. Great. I was going to be the new Albino kid from Phoenix.

I sighed, slamming the closet door shut and grabbing my carrier bag from my bed and my iPhone. Renée had already left me two messages:

_Morning, sweetie. Have a lovely first day! — Mom._

Followed by:

_Sweetie, did you get my message? — Mom._

I sighed, typing back a quick reply as I slung my carrier bag over my shoulder and left my room. Like my bedroom, the rest of my house had barely changed in almost two decades, since my mom's departure. The upstairs landing was still the same pale green color that reminded me so much of the scenery outside and the house seemed a little haunted. Not by ghosts specifically, but more by memories - Charlie's memories.

I headed downstairs, to the kitchen. Charlie was sitting at the table reading the _Forks Tribune_, his brow creased in concentration. My lips tilted into an involuntary, fond smile. My father didn't look much like me. He had thick, slightly graying, curly hair and a moustache that had gone out of fashion at least twenty years ago. His face had once been boyishly handsome in an understated way, but the wrinkles and creases of age and weight fluctuation had stolen his youthful looks.

"Hey," I mumbled, slinging my bag across the back of one of the kitchen chairs.

"Morning," Charlie grunted, offering me an awkward smile. He picked up his cup of coffee, taking a quick sip before sitting it back down on the table. "Did you... sleep well?"

"Fine," I lied, forcing a smile. There was no need to let him know how my hatred of Forks and my fear of getting stuck here was affecting my nightmares. "Are you hungry?"

"I'll grab something at the deli," Charlie said quickly, frowning when I opened the fridge, perusing its contents. I rolled my eyes. Charlie insisted on feeding himself the only way he knew how, because he hated thinking he was putting me out. Honestly, if I didn't cook the groceries I'd bought, they were going to go bad and eating out of a deli every morning was neither healthy _or_ economical.

Ignoring his protests, I cooked us both up a plate of French toast and I sat down to eat it with him in companionable silence. Neither of us were very talkative people.

"Thanks, Bells," Charlie mumbled when he was finished, his cheeks flushing a little pink with awkwardness.

I shrugged, flashing him a quick smile as I cleared the table and rinsed the plates off in the sink. I glanced at the clock, grabbing my carrier bag. "What time will you be home tonight?"

Charlie glanced up from the paper, frowning thoughtfully. "Six, hopefully. I can get pizza, if you want? You'll probably have homework…"

"I can make lasagna or something. No big deal." I shrugged again. "I gotta go, so I'll see you tonight?"

"Yeah. Have a good day at school," Charlie said.

I nodded once, not bothering to point out how impossible _that_ was likely to be, and walked out of the kitchen, to the front door. I was really going to have to get a job or something. The meager funds I'd had were spent on clothes suited to the cold, wet climate of Forks and I really needed a vehicle. I clicked the front door shut behind me, pocketing the spare key from the old, rotting flower pot on the porch and drew the hood of my rain jacket over my head as I jogged down to the end of the drive.

My timing was pretty close. When I stopped at the gate, the school bus was pulling up at the sidewalk. When I approached the bus, the doors folded open and I stepped on, flashing my newly acquired bus ticket at the old, friendly looking driver. He smiled reassuringly at me, probably because he knew who Charlie was (Who didn't in this town?) and, by association, me. Somehow, I suspected he wouldn't be the only one.

I stepped past him, taking a deep, nervous breath. The bus was almost full and most of the kids already on the bus looked about fourteen or fifteen. It wasn't very reassuring. I made my way to a seat close to the back, ignoring their curious stares, my face burning bright with embarrassment. I took the seat by the window, staring determinedly out the glass and refusing to meet the eyes of anyone else.

When the bus started moving again, I clutched my bag closer to my chest and my grip tightened. I could feel their curious gazes boring into my face and the more I thought about them, the redder I became. The bus stopped a couple of times more and the remaining seats gradually began to fill, excited chatter rising to almost deafening levels around me. It was the first day back at school, which helped me go somewhat unnoticed for the most part. The two boys who took a seat in front of me looked like they belonged in college. They were extremely pale — paler even than me — and they talked in low voices, in a language that I didn't understand. It sounded like Russian. They, unlike the others closest to me, completely ignored me, their eyes sweeping over the bus furtively from time to time like they were planning something illegal. It was a little perturbing but I was relieved at the distraction.

When the bus stopped outside a small, unkempt looking house, I watched as the front door swung open and a tall, blond haired boy appeared in the doorway, his bag slung casually over his shoulder. His honey blond, slightly curly hair was flattened beneath a black beanie and he wasn't wearing the red school sweater, his white shirt outlining his broad chest with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and his collar turned up. His tie was loose around his neck and as he walked toward the bus he tugged at it irritably, his brow creased into a brooding scowl.

It was the first time that morning that I actually paid any attention to another student on the bus, but it was kind of difficult _not_ to. Even the two weird dudes in front of me eyed the boy surreptitiously as he stepped onto the bus, rubbing the side of his nose absentmindedly as he flashed his bus ticket. I wondered what a guy like him was doing on a school bus — he looked old enough to drive. When he started making his way down the aisle, I realized belatedly that the seat next to me was the only free one and I shifted awkwardly as he dumped his bag on the floor, folding his tall frame onto the tiny seat. To say it was uncomfortable was an understatement. He was well over six feet and while he was lean, he was quite broad-shouldered, completely dwarfing the chair with his legs sprawled out as far as the seat permitted.

It was also semi-uncomfortable because no matter how hard I tried to focus on anything other than the guy beside me and the scent of his cologne, my eyes kept returning to the exposed, faintly tanned skin of his forearm, resting dangerously close to mine. He had callused hands and his knuckles were slightly bruised, like they were recovering from a fist fight.

I bit my lip, my cheeks flushing red and I shifted slightly, tilting my head away. I stared resolutely out the window, trying to will the blood away from my face. What was _wrong_ with me? I'd never really noticed other guys before. Not in Phoenix, anyway. Most of guys there had been narcissistic pretty boys with sexuality issues anyway. Once I'd hit puberty, I'd become distant from the rest of the girls in my class because I didn't follow the norm and become a blond bimbo obsessed with beating her friends to second base with the captain of the football team.

What was so different about this guy?

I lowered my gaze, glancing at him surreptitiously from beneath my lashes. He was staring straight ahead, one hand rubbing absentmindedly at his nose as he scowled at nothing in particular. Almost as if he sensed my gaze, his eyes swerved in my direction, his brow tightening slightly.

My face flushed and I bit my lip tighter, attempting to pinch myself without him noticing.

"You're the Chief's daughter, right?" he grunted, his voice low and gravelly. I blinked, surprised that he was talking to me, and I found myself nodding my head nervously, my face flushing darker.

"Guilty," I mumbled.

He nodded, his dark brown eyes sweeping over my face almost curiously, before he sighed. "Swan. Right."

"Bella," I mumbled. "My name's Bella."

"Jasper Whitlock." Somehow, I couldn't see him with a generic name, but I was still a little surprised that he had a name like 'Jasper'. It was unusual, but it suited him somehow.

He didn't hold out his hand for me to shake, for which I was grateful. The situation was uncomfortable enough without physical contact.

After a few seconds, his lips tilted into a brief, amused smirk. "What? The Chief didn't warn you about me?"

I frowned. "Should he have?"

"Unquestionably." The bus pulled up in a smallish parking lot surrounded my trees before I could question the meaning behind his statement and he stood, slinging his bag over his shoulder with one quick, smooth movement. He must have seen the confusion in my eyes because he smirked mysteriously once more, tugging his black beanie over his brow as he said, "You'll understand soon enough, sweetheart." And then he was gone.

I shuffled off the bus, glancing warily at the two pale foreign dudes that had sat ahead of me on the bus, but they barely noticed my presence. The parking lot was pretty full with a range of expensive to not-so-expensive looking cars. A few students lingered in the lot chatting, but I followed the rest of them to a break in the surrounding vegetation. This led onto the long, damp lawn in front of the main building of Forks High School. It looked like a reasonably big, old building with several prefabs and newer extensions built onto it haphazardly. Large letters colored the extending limbs and the words "Forks High School" were written in bold letters above the main entrance.

But that wasn't what drew my attention. What drew my attention was the tall, fat statue of the founder of Forks High, a stout man known as Benedict Newton. It was situated in the center of the lawn and it was about twice the height of a normal person - and while it would normally stand out on its own, that wasn't the reason that almost every student in Forks High was crowded around it, jeering and laughing.

A tall, gangly boy was tied to the statue in a pair of red and white striped boxers, his thick, black-framed glasses askew on his red face. The word _VIRGIN_ was scrawled across his face.

I immediately felt a dark sense of foreboding surge through my body and I wished that I hadn't bothered to get out of bed this morning. This high school was going to be every bit as bad as Phoenix, I could tell.

Gulping, I turned and hurried in the opposite direction of the crowd, toward the main building. I pulled open the door of the quiet entrance hall, glancing around nervously as I looked for the office. A large sign with the words "OFFICE, MAIN" written on it was pasted to a door to my right and I walked toward it, pulling open the door.

A woman in a purple t-shirt was sitting at an organized desk, her hair a mass of red curls. She glanced up as I entered, her eyes lighting with curiosity.

"Um… I'm Isabella Swan?" I said awkwardly.

"Of course." She stood, grabbing a folder from the shelf behind me. Her voice was brisk, efficient and although she continued to stare at me curiously, at least she didn't ask me any questions or pry. She opened the folder, pulling out a timetable and a map. "Here," she said, handing me the sheets. "These are your classes. I've written down the buildings and the teachers you've been assigned. You shouldn't have any difficulties with location but if you do, I'm here all day." She smiled reassuringly. "The map is fairly easy to get. This is the office and your first class is here…" She started pointing to different points on the map, making sure I understood what I was doing, before she handed me a slip for my teachers to sign.

"Thank you," I said when she was finished.

"No problem." She smiled again. "Have a nice day, Isabella."

I nodded my thanks, ignoring the use of my full name, and turned toward the office door. Before I could open it, a girl pushed it open roughly, barely glancing at me as she strode into the office, her dark hair bouncing in the loose ponytail she'd forced her curls into.

"Ms. Cope, Eric Yorkie's tied to the statue of Benedict Newton in his boxers," she informed the secretary, her voice bored.

The secretary groaned, hurrying toward the door. "Not again!"

She left and a few seconds later, I heard the main doors slam shut.

"Hey, new girl." I swung around, surprised, as the small, dark-haired girl lifted herself onto the office desk, her head tilted curiously as she eyed me. "You're lucky I got to you first," she said amusedly, holding out her hand for me to shake. "Angela Weber."

I shook it awkwardly. "Bella Swan."

"I know," she said. She blew stray strands of her hair back from her face, still eyeing me curiously. She was dressed strangely, in a loose pair of jeans and a t-shirt that looked like it had seen one too many paint cans. "We should probably get out of here. When they cut Eric down, they'll be dragging Whitlock in."

I felt a weird jolt of recognition. "Uh… Jasper Whitlock?"

"You know him?" Angela looked surprised.

I shook my head. "No."

"You'll know soon enough." Angela flashed me a grin. "The Chief's going to be called in over this."

I guessed that Jasper's record must be alarming if this incident was enough to get the police involved, and the thought was disturbing. He seemed a bit misunderstood but not exactly dangerous.

"Um… do you know where the English building is?" I asked, changing the subject.

"Sure. I'll walk you."

Angela led me back outside. Ms. Cope was dispersing the crowd on the lawn while she and another teacher attempted to cut Eric down from the statue. I followed her around the back of the building to a series of prefabs with various letters on them. She pointed toward the "C" building. "That's where we're headed."

A few students were already walking in that direction and they glanced over their shoulders occasionally, their curious eyes raking over me. Angela completely ignored them, her face shadowed as she walked.

The bell rang just as we opened the door and the teacher, a thin, reedy man, looked up, his eyes widening slightly when he noticed me. I blushed, of course, while he explained the reading list and asked me a few questions about how far into the course I'd gotten in Phoenix. Eventually, he sent me to a seat at the back on my own and I forced myself to ignore the blatant stares of other students as Mr. Mason began his lecture.

Ten minutes into class, the door swung open and my mouth fell open. I'd seen my fair share of pretty boys in Phoenix, even thought myself fairly immune to that sort of beauty, but my breath caught in fascination as the most _beautiful_ boy I had ever seen walked into the room, his bag slung casually over his shoulder. Although they looked nothing alike, the similarities between himself and Jasper Whitlock were obvious. They both looked like fallen angels — inhumanly beautiful but too rough around the edges to ever be considered pure. Like Jasper, this boy wasn't wearing his red sweater, the collar of his shirt turned up and the sleeves shoved up to his elbows. His unusual, bronze colored hair was tousled severely and he had a pale, angular face. He was just as tall as Jasper, equally as lean, and he towered over Mr. Mason as he strode into the classroom, a lit cigarette between two slender fingers.

"How nice of you to join us, Mr. Cullen," Mason said dryly, eyeing the boy's cigarette distastefully. "Too busy defiling innocent girls to bother coming to class?"

The boy flashed Mason the most disarmingly wicked grin, his green eyes flashing with dark amusement. "You know me so well, sir."

The "sir" tacked onto the end of his sentence held none of the respect that the word implied, but if Mason noticed, he didn't seem bothered by it. The whole exchange confused me, though the students around me seemed to think it was the norm. If the cops were called in over a boy getting tied in his boxers to a statue, why was the discipline so lax when it came to tardiness and smoking?

As I thought this, I noticed the Rolex on his wrist — it was _definitely_ not a fake — and the answer occurred to me almost simultaneously when I remembered the shabby house that Jasper Whitlock had been living in.

_Money_.

"Uh huh," Mason nodded, obviously not amused. "Can you locate your seat, Mr. Cullen? Or do you need directions?"

The boy took one last drag on his cigarette before dumping it in the bin by the door. Mason waited as he started walking down the aisle and I realized that once again, the seat beside mine was the only one free.

I felt a weird sense of déjà vu as he pulled out the chair next to mine, completely dwarfing the furniture as he sat down. I looked away determinedly, willing away any inclination I had to blush.

Mason resumed his lecture while the boy beside me pulled out a pristine copy of _To Kill A Mockingbird_, the shiny cover putting my own to shame. Mine had been read so many times that the back cover was torn in three places and there were wrinkles all down the spine.

_But, _I thought smugly, _mine obviously smells better_.

I hated the polished smell of new books, but put me in a library and I immediately fell in love. There was something about the smell of well-loved, well-read books that warmed my heart.

But as much as I tried to re-read the pages of one of my favorite books, I was acutely aware of the boy sitting next to me.

"So _you're_ the Chief's daughter?" said a quiet voice, like muted velvet.

I glanced up, stunned that he was speaking to me. He was watching me with amused interest, probably because my cheeks were slowly but surely beginning to color.

"That's me," I sighed, a little flustered as I looked away, back to my book. "Let me guess: _you're_ the football captain?"

"That's me," he responded, his flawless lips quirking into a half-smirk. I was a little disappointed that someone so beautiful could fit the stereotype so easily. Mason's question in the beginning — _"Too busy defiling innocent girls to bother coming to class?" _— only confirmed my assessment. This boy, whatever his name, was just another pretty, womanizing jock. "I'm Edward Cullen."

Irrationally, the fact this inhumanly beautiful boy was such a generic stereotype made me want to cry.

"Bella," I answered.

"Do you know that means 'beautiful' in —"

I grimaced. "Please don't."

"What?" He looked a little taken aback that I'd ruined his line.

Again, I felt that irrational impulse to cry. "_Your name means 'beautiful' in Italian?" _I scoffed. "Like I haven't heard _that_ one before."

"It was an observation, not a line." Edward's amusement was back, his lips quirking as his eyes raked over my face. "But if you _want_ me to flirt with you…"

"I don't," I said.

"Ms. Swan?" I jumped, looking up at Mason. He looked a little annoyed. "Have you something you'd like to add? Obviously, it must be important if it's distracting you?"

Annoyed, I retorted, "I was just saying that Mayella Ewell destroyed an innocent man in order to hide her own desire for him. You said that her feelings were genuine but I think that she desired the forbidden aspect rather than Tom Robinson himself. Obviously, she couldn't have wanted him _that_ bad if she was able to do what she did."

Mason, obviously not expecting me to reply, looked a little stunned.

"And I told Swan that she's looking at it the wrong way," Edward chimed in, barely suppressing his amusement as he played along. "Desire and love are the not the same thing and they don't make people act in the same way. If Mayella had _loved_ Tom, maybe she couldn't have done what she did. But she only _desired_ him."

I looked at Edward, stunned. _Thank God, _ crossed my mind briefly as I realized that there _was_ some hidden intelligence behind those dark eyes and maybe — just maybe — some depth.

"That is… one person's interpretation," Mason said, but he looked a little perturbed that two of his students had made more perceptive observations than he had in all his years of teaching. He went back to his lecture, but Edward and I had attracted attention and people were staring at us curiously.

"I think you'd be surprised at the lengths that people go to for desire," I muttered quietly, watching Mason for signs of an impending interruption.

"I sincerely doubt it."

"I don't know." I put down my book, glancing warily at Mason before turning to Edward. "I bet you would, if you knew what I meant. I'm not talking about just desire. I'm… have you ever wanted somebody so bad that you got tunnel vision? That absolutely nothing else — and I mean _nothing_ — registered?"

Edward's mouth curved into a wicked smirk. "Have _you_?"

My cheeks began to flush with color as he raked his eyes over my face again, only this time he didn't stop at my mouth. He continued his descent, over my sweater to my barely-there skirt and pale legs, to my white stockings. I had never been checked out like _that_ before. Hell, I'd never been _checked_ _out_ before. It wasn't that I was ugly or anything. I was just kind of plain.

"No," I answered, relieved that my voice didn't shake. "But that doesn't mean it isn't possible."

"Ms. _Swan_!" Mason stared at me impatiently, two patches of color on his cheeks. I flushed even redder when several people turned to stare at me in their chairs. I abruptly shut up, allowing Mason to continue with his lecture. I didn't speak to Edward again for the rest of the class.

When the bell rang, I shoved my book into my carrier bag, following the rest of the class out. I had Government next in the same building so I followed a few students down the hallway, fumbling in my bag for my map to make sure that I was going in the right direction.

"HEY, CULLEN!"

I glanced behind me, my eyes widening slightly when I saw Jasper Whitlock pulling open the door to the English building. His jaw was locked, his eyes livid as they focused on Edward, who was just leaving the English classroom. When he saw Jasper's expression, he smirked.

Before I had time to even blink, Jasper shoved Edward, pinning him up against the closed classroom door by the neck, his fist poised close to his face.

"Give me one fucking reason why I shouldn't smash that pretty fucking face of yours," Jasper spat, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the front of Edward's shirt tightly.

"Shit, Jasper, don't —" A pretty, dark-haired girl attempted to grab Jasper's arm, but he shoved her off, completely ignoring her.

"Stay out of it, Maria," he hissed.

"I have no fucking idea what you're talking about," Edward smirked at Jasper. He gripped Jasper's shoulders, shoving him off, but Jasper refused to allow Edward to dislodge his grip and somehow, Edward ended up getting the back of his head smashed against the door as he tried to break free.

He looked a little dazed for a few seconds.

"Let me refresh your memory," Jasper growled. "You tied fucking Yorkie to a statue and paid him off in an attempt to get me expelled before the fucking year had even begun."

Edward shrugged innocently. "Sorry, dude. Doesn't ring a bell."

"MR. WHITLOCK!" A figure strode past me, his voice outraged. "WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING? !"

Jasper immediately let go of Edward and Edward slumped against the door a little, reflexively rubbing his head. He winced, probably finding a bruise.

"Nothing," Jasper spat, glaring at Edward. He turned abruptly, pulling open the door of the building roughly, and strode angrily out into the courtyard. The teacher immediately went to Edward, helping him up.

Before I could even process what had just happened, a blond haired, baby-faced boy appeared beside me, a wide smile on his face. I offered him a quick smile back, hoping that he'd just turn around and leave me alone, but instead he insisted on walking me to my next class, which was in a different building.

"I'm Mike Newton," he smiled, offering his hand like Angela had. I shook it quickly. "You must be Isabella," he continued.

"Bella," I corrected.

"Right." He started asking about my classes and how I was liking Forks, so I mostly tuned him out and lied a lot as we walked. My next class was much less eventful than the last one. I had a seat to myself at the back of the classroom and although some people stared at me, I was able to ignore them for the most part.

In Spanish, I ended up sitting next to a girl called Jessica who chattered away for most of the class to the girl in front of me like I wasn't even there. Ms. Geoff scolded her at least five times but once her back was turned, Jessica was at it again.

I felt like I was starting to blend, becoming less of an oddity as the day wore on.

But all that changed when lunch finally rolled round.


	2. The Bad Boy

**Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight. I do, however, own the plot of this fanfiction.**

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**2. The Bad Boy  
_Beta'd by Fragile Human_**

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**Jasper.**

I waited twenty minutes for the fucking water to heat up but Mom had probably forgotten to pay the heating bill again or something, because the water was still stone cold when I stepped under the spray, too fucking tired and impatient to care about the temperature.

I showered quickly, dried off and shoved on the grey school pants and white shirt. I examined my knuckles carefully, frowning as I noticed the bruises _still_ hadn't faded completely. They throbbed a little but at least I hadn't broken them. That was one fucking medical bill we didn't need.

After I'd shaved, I grabbed my bag, ignoring the red school sweater on my bed, and stomped downstairs in my black boots. The smell of bacon and eggs wafted in from the kitchen and my stomach growled hungrily as I stepped into the room, rubbing my face tiredly.

"Hey, sweetie," Madison Whitlock smiled fondly, rising up on her tiptoes to kiss my cheek. I wrapped my arm around her middle loosely, inhaling the scent of the food on the plate she held in her hands. "Did you sleep well?"

"Yeah," I grunted, taking the plate she offered me. I sat down at the worn dining room table, picking up the _Forks Tribune_ that she had discarded on the table. "Is this today's?"

Madison glanced at the paper in my hand. "Yep."

I flipped open the cover, watching my mother distractedly as she made herself a plate. She had lost weight again, I noticed. Her petite form was a lot thinner than usual and her face looked haggard and worn. She had tied her messy, blond hair into a loose bun and her light blue eyes looked too big for her face.

"You'll behave yourself today, won't you?" Madison implored as she sat down opposite me, and I felt a surge of guilt as I considered her statement. It was _my_ fault that she'd lost weight again. The Chief put me on probation after I smashed Paul Xavier's face in at a party last weekend. Neither of them knew the half of what had happened — that Paul had been mouthing off about my mother, implying a lot of shit about us — but I deserved the night I spent in the holding cell before Chief Swan could convince the deputy, Mark, to let me go. Mark had it in for me because my mother turned him down in high school, and that shit was getting old. He'd already had my license revoked after charging me with two DUIs, but he wasn't going to let up until I was behind bars for longer than six months.

I grunted in reply. I _wanted_ to promise her that I'd keep my record squeaky clean this year but I knew that promise would be in vain. Until I got out of Forks, trouble was never going to escape me.

I ate the rest of my breakfast, scanning the headlines of the newspaper.

"I have to work late this evening at the station," Madison announced abruptly. "Will you be okay for food?"

I frowned. "I can make something." I watched her carefully, eyeing the uncomfortable look on her face. Chief Swan put in a good word for her down at the precinct and she had been working as a secretary there for a good few years now. The only times that she ever claimed to have to work overtime was when our need for cash outstripped her mortification at the thought of asking for help. I felt another surge of guilt and shame, and thought about asking Billy Black for a job down at the Quileute garage. The Moretti brothers might have given me a shot here in Forks, but Cullen would screw that up for me faster than I would myself.

But would Billy hire me after I totaled Paul's face?

Behind the guilt and the shame was a simmering anger that never really went away. I'd learned to deal with it in my own way over the years, since we didn't have the money to pay for anger management sessions with the therapist at Forks General Hospital. As much as I blamed myself for my mother's deteriorating health, I knew that my deadbeat father, Jackson Whitlock, was the heart of the problem. He just upped and left when I was five, leaving me to take care of Madison in his absence. We hadn't heard a word from him since.

I heard the engine of a vehicle pulling up outside and I grabbed my bag, stooping to give my mother a quick kiss on the cheek. "See you tonight."

"Have a good day," she smiled.

"I will," I lied. I slung my bag over my shoulder, grabbing my black beanie from the hat stand inside the door. I fitted it over my head haphazardly, pulling open the front door and stepping out onto the porch.

A bright yellow school bus was idling at the end of the drive, the doors folded open. I scowled, thinking about the black '78 Camaro hibernating in the Chief's shed. I spent the entirety of last summer just fixing that thing up and scavenging for parts at scrap yards in Port Angeles. It was the only thing of my father's that I hadn't destroyed, and with good reason. They just didn't build cars like that anymore. Because the fucking deputy, Mark, had revoked my license, it was illegal for me to drive it, and the Chief had taken the car to keep me from temptation. Sometimes his meddling was fucking annoying but I knew what he was trying to do. He and Jackson and that blond freak, Dr. Cullen, had been best friends in high school and the Chief felt some sort of obligation when it came to my mother and me because of the past.

I tugged on my tie irritably, trying to dislodge thoughts of my father as I made my way toward the school bus. John Scovo, the bus driver, eyed me warily as I flashed my ticket at him but he didn't tell me to get off.

The bus was packed with freshmen and sophomores and I grimaced at the thought of being gawked at by fourteen and fifteen year old teenagers. My reputation had earned me somewhat of a fan base among the younger kids. They thought I was 'brooding and dangerous' or some shit like that. They'd even set up a fanpage on Facebook, right next to Cullen's.

I scanned the bus, realizing that the only free seat was next to a brunette chick I didn't recognize. She didn't look particularly comfortable with the seating arrangement and she shifted awkwardly as I dumped my bag on the floor, sitting heavily on the tiny seat. Fucking school bus.

She was very pale — almost as pale as the Russian foreign exchange students, Stefan Abramova and Vladimir Kravtsov, sitting in the seat in front of us — and it made her skin look translucent, like a porcelain doll. Her hair was a dark chocolate brown and the ends curled gently around her heart-shaped face, highlighting the length of her neck.

It took me a few seconds to recognize who she was. When I realized that she was the Chief's daughter, surprise surged through me. She didn't look like him much. She was a lot prettier and her eyes were a dark, chocolate brown without looking flat. But she was definitely older than the other girls around her, with a more mature body — something I _definitely_ noticed. I would have had to have been blind not to.

Her thick, black lashes lowered and her cheeks colored warmly, her teeth clamping down on her bottom lip as she tilted her head away. Her eyes fluttered back open as she focused on the passing scenery outside the window.

Did she just _blush_?

I blinked in surprise, a little amused. I rubbed at my nose tiredly, staring at the back of Stefan's head as I wondered about that little involuntary reaction. I wasn't used to girls like her. I was used to girls like Maria Hall who climbed into the backseats of '78 Camaros after football games. Unsurprisingly, my mother hadn't liked _her_ much.

I felt that annoying, prickling sensation on my neck and I realized that she was staring at me. I glanced in her direction, frowning a little at the curious expression on her face.

She blushed again.

"You're the Chief's daughter, right?" It was the only thing I could think of that couldn't be construed as overtly sexual. I really had no fucking filter when it came to females under thirty.

She blinked, her face flushing a deeper red. "Guilty," she muttered in a low, clear voice. There was nothing frilly or girly about it, I noted with relief.

I nodded. "Swan. Right."

"Bella," she mumbled. "My name's Bella."

It was pretty. Understated, like her.

"Jasper Whitlock." I half expected her to gawk at my name or to edge away from me — hadn't her father had the sense to tell her to stay away from me? — but she just seemed mildly surprised. I waited for the flare of recognition in her eyes but it never came, and I found my mouth curling into an amused smirk. "What? The Chief didn't warn you about me?"

She frowned, a cute pucker appearing between her brows. "Should he have?"

"Unquestionably." The bus pulled up in the Forks High parking lot and I stood, slinging my bag over my shoulder. I smirked at the confused look on her face, tugging the beanie lower over my brow. "You'll understand soon enough, sweetheart."

I startled a freshman as I stepped past her, accidentally brushing her arm. She fluttered her lashes instinctively at me but I didn't notice the flirtatious gesture. I climbed off the bus, striding quickly across the lot to the school lawn.

My stomach dropped when I stepped onto the grass and registered the scene ahead of me. Eric Yorkie, the Editor in Chief of the school newspaper, _What the Fork?, _was taped to the statue of Benedict Newton in the center of the lawn, surrounded by a crowd of laughing and jeering students. The word _VIRGIN_ was scrawled across his bare chest in handwriting uncannily like my own.

"Fuck!" I cursed, startling a group of sophomores who had been standing nearby. The eyed me warily as I started across the lawn, my eyes sweeping over the area looking for a bronze head.

I found Peter and Garrett instead, watching the scene from a distance. Peter Reed and Garrett Ward were my close friends. We'd all, at some point, been a victim of Royce King's reign of terror in middle school and we'd bonded over the experience.

"It's a bit early for you to be getting suspended, isn't it, Jazz?" Peter said as I joined them, his brow quirked.

"Don't fucking call me Jazz. And I didn't fucking do that," I scowled, dumping my bag on the ground.

Garrett groaned. "Cullen."

"Who fucking else?" I growled. "I'm going to fucking kill him."

"Maybe you should calm down first," Peter advised. He grabbed my arm, shoving me down on the bench beside him. Normally, I would given someone a black eye for manhandling me like that, but I was honestly a little fucking afraid of ever getting into fight with Peter. He was almost as big as Emmett McCarty, who was built like an oversized bear, and he'd been taking kickboxing classes in Port Angeles since he was twelve.

"I _am_ fucking calm," I growled, rubbing my nose irritably. Peter rolled his eyes when I didn't move.

We watched as Ms. Cope flew out of the main building, yelling at students to get to class as she attempted to pull the tape off Eric. Peter, Garrett and I went to follow the crowd but a large hand landed on my shoulder and I swung around, coming face to face with Principal Lowe.

"I think you should come with me, son," he said coldly.

I nodded my head mutely, following him up the lawn to the main building. As I walked, I noticed Maria standing on the steps outside the Spanish building with her best friend, Victoria Martinez. She had a cigarette pressed to her lips but she was watching me carefully, her lips pulled down. As I met her gaze, she sighed and turned to face Victoria.

I felt like our roles were reversed most of the time. I was faithful to her; I never really felt the urge to get off with other girls the way Cullen had while he was with Rosalie Hale, and I didn't just call her up when I wanted to fuck and shit. But she refused to go public as my girlfriend and I knew that she saw other guys occasionally.

I ducked my head, pursing my lips. Principal Lowe led me into his office, gesturing toward the seat in front of him. He opened his mouth to begin his fucking lecture but I cut him to the chase.

"Don't call my mother," I blurted out.

Lowe scowled. "First of all, Mr. Whitlock, you're not exactly in a position to be demanding _anything,_ and second of all, your mother is the only guardian you have listed —"

"Call the Chief," I interrupted him. "His name is down there somewhere as an emergency contact or some shit."

"I don't appreciate your language, Mr. Whitlock," Lowe scolded.

I rolled my eyes, waiting patiently for the verdict.

"Very well. I'll have Ms. Cope get in touch with the station." He left the room and as soon as the door swung shut, I was out of my seat and rifling through the drawer of his desk, looking for the keys to the filing cabinet. I found the keys I needed, snorting when I realized that they were all color-coded for accessibility. I grabbed the yellow one, shoving it into the right filing cabinet. I pulled open the drawer, my fingers flipping through the files of students until I stopped at CULLEN, EDWARD. I pulled out the copy of his timetable, scanning the details.

Excellent. He had English first period.

I put the timetable back in his folder, slamming the drawer shut and locking the filing cabinet before returning the keys to Lowe's drawer. When he returned, I was sitting back in the chair opposite his desk, rubbing the side of my nose absentmindedly.

"Chief Swan will be here in a few minutes."

"I can't wait." My voice was heavy with sarcasm.

We waited in silence, with me drumming my fingers impatiently on the desk, while Lowe inspected his fingernails like he expected them to grow an inch or something in the space of a couple of seconds.

When we heard Ms. Cope's voice in the corridor outside, we both straightened abruptly, watching the door. The Chief walked through it a few seconds later, nodding briefly at Lowe before his eyes focused on me.

"You couldn't at least give it a week, huh, kid?" he asked, his voice thick with disappointment. Irrational guilt surged through me and I smiled sheepishly, shrugging my shoulders. The Chief turned to Lowe. "What'd he do this time?"

"He taped another student to the statue of Benedict Newton in his underwear," Lowe informed him, his tone scandalized.

"We have a statue of Benedict Newton in his underwear?" I asked innocently.

Lowe turned purple, his fists shaking a little like he was resisting the urge to hit me. To my utmost surprise, the Chief actually chuckled. "You should probably keep your trap shut, kid," he said, his lips curling into an amused smile beneath his moustache. "The right to remain silent and all that."

I grinned, tugging my beanie lower on my brow. I was a bit fidgety today.

"He's looking at suspension at the very least," Lowe addressed the Chief, his voice cold as he glared at me.

"That's a bit hasty, isn't it?" the Chief asked. "School hasn't even begun yet."

"Exactly!" Lowe insisted exasperatedly. "This year hasn't even begun, yet he's already up to his eyeballs in trouble!"

The Chief sighed, glancing at me. "What were you thinking, kid?"

"I didn't do it," I said honestly. "I haven't left the house since Peter dropped me home yesterday evening. You can ask Mom."

"I believe you." The Chief turned to face Lowe. "There you go. It wasn't him."

"Of _course_ it was him! It was _his _bloody handwriting on Yorkie's chest!" Lowe said angrily, his face turning purple once more.

The Chief looked angry that Lowe hadn't just accepted his judgment. "Listen to me, Marcus." He pointed at me. "Not _once_ has that boy lied to me. If he'd done something, he'd own up to it. The boy might be a bit undisciplined but he's not a liar."

Lowe glared at me but I just shrugged, smiling innocently.

He growled in frustration after a few seconds. "Yorkie _says_ you did it."

"Yorkie was paid," I responded. "I bet you'll find a couple of hundred bills tucked inside his boxers right now."

Lowe looked at me doubtfully before calling Ms. Cope inside, instructing her to check Eric for money. She came back in a few minutes later, her face flushed with embarrassment as she confirmed my statement.

I think that was when it became apparent to Lowe who was behind the little prank. He immediately became all formal, refusing to delve further into the matter. Resentment burned under the surface — fucking Cullen got away with everything — but I was wise enough not to voice the injustice out loud.

"Very well," Lowe said, his voice devoid of emotion. "You should probably return to class."

"If you don't mind, I'd like to speak to Jasper for a few minutes in private," the Chief said, glancing at Lowe. Lowe frowned before reluctantly shuffling out of the room when he realized that the Chief meant to use his office. When the door clicked shut behind Lowe, the Chief sat down in Lowe's chair, his fingers inching toward the globe on Lowe's desk. He swung it absentmindedly and frowned.

"What's up, Chief?" I asked nonchalantly.

The Chief sighed. "Madison isn't looking too good. I was just wondering if she was eating."

"She ate her breakfast this morning," I said evenly, a little angry that he was prying again. The Chief and I got on - for the most part - but I hated when he tried to insinuate himself into our lives further than I was comfortable with.

The Chief nodded. "Look… my girl's starting today. She's in the same year as you, I think," he said, looking a bit uncomfortable. "You don't mind keeping an eye on her, do you? Just so she doesn't manage to get herself into trouble, mind." He glared at me for a few moments.

I rolled my eyes, my lips curving into an amused half-smile. "I'll see what I can do."

"Thanks, kid. Try to stay out of trouble, will ya?" The Chief stood, moving toward the door. I followed him out, smirking at Lowe who was pacing impatiently outside the door. I went straight to Ms. Cope and asked for my new class schedule. She passed me the document, offering me a relieved smile when she was sure that Lowe wasn't looking.

I walked out of the office, glancing over my classes. My first class was almost finished so I decided to walk over to the English building and wait for Cullen. I was sick to fucking death of that little shit getting away with everything, while my record was repeatedly butchered.

I was only waiting five minutes before the bell rang and students began to exit the building. I shoved my timetable into my back pocket and flung open the door.

"HEY, CULLEN!" I called, flexing my knuckles reflexively as the bronze-haired, pretty boy walked out of the English classroom. His eyes widened slightly when he saw me, before his mouth curled into a smirk. Realization sparked in his eyes — he knew that I knew the truth — and a slow burning rage began to build.

I lunged at him, taking him off guard, and shoved him backwards against the classroom door. Fueled by anger, I pinned him up against the wood by his neck and sneered into his arrogant face. He looked winded, his smirk fading.

"Give me one fucking reason why I shouldn't smash that pretty fucking face of yours," I spat, adjusting my grip so that I was fisting his shirt instead.

I saw Maria move into my peripheral vision, her eyes wide with alarm. "Shit, Jasper, don't —" She grabbed my arm but she might as well have been a fucking feather for all the strength she possessed.

"Stay out of it, Maria," I hissed angrily, eyes focusing on Cullen's pale face. He recovered fairly quickly, his smirk returning with a vengeance.

"I have no fucking idea what you're talking about," he smirked. He lunged for my shoulders but I slammed him back against the door, banging his head against it. Smug satisfaction surged through me when he winced, looking a little dazed.

"Let me refresh your memory," I growled. "You tied fucking Yorkie to a statue and paid him off in an attempt to get me expelled before the fucking year had even begun."

Cullen shrugged innocent, his eyes glittering with cold amusement. "Sorry, dude. Doesn't ring a bell."

"MR. WHITLOCK!" I glanced over my shoulder, watching as Mr. Jefferson strode down the hallway. "WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING? !"

I let go of Cullen immediately and he slumped against the door, reflexively rubbing his head. I suppressed a smirk when I noticed him wince, probably finding a bruise.

"Nothing," I spat. I threw Cullen once last glare before I spun around, pulling open the door of the building and striding angrily out into the courtyard.

I heard footsteps behind me and turned to see Maria jogging across the courtyard after me. I stopped, waiting for her to catch up.

"What?" I demanded when she reached me, not bothering to get a grip on my temper. I was fucking sick of all this bullshit with Cullen and then with her.

I had no idea when the hatred between Edward Cullen and I really began. All our lives, he had been the snobby, rich, arrogant jerk of Forks while I'd been the less popular, povert-stricken bad boy from the other side of town — and we'd never ever mixed well. Shit just escalated once we entered high school. It didn't matter that our parents had once been best friends.

"Are you trying to get expelled?" she demanded exasperatedly.

I raked my eyes over her face, trying to figure out her motivations. "Why do _you _care?"

She narrowed her dark eyes. "We're friends, aren't we?"

"_Are_ we?" I retorted, a little pissed. I really didn't need this fucking shit right now.

"Oh, fuck, I forgot you go all PMS when someone dares to talk about your _feelings_,"she mocked, her lips pursing so that it looked like she was pouting instead of scowling. Whatever. That shit might work on brainless idiots like Royce King but I really wasn't that fucking desperate. Why did I want her to be my girlfriend again? Oh yeah, because I have a fucking conscience and using her for sex seems a bit wrong when you've been brought up to respect women.

."And I thought you loved that about me," I said sarcastically. "Now if you don't mind…" I made a sweeping motion with my hand, indicating for her to get out of my fucking way.

"Fuck, Jasper. Just stop, okay?" She grabbed my arm, glancing around like she was afraid someone might see her making physical contact with me or something. That shit just irritated me and I pulled my arm out of her grip.

"Stop what?"

"Stop being such a fucking douche. Seriously, what the fuck was that with Cullen?" Maria demanded.

I stared at her for all of three seconds before realization dawned. "No! You fucking bitch, _that's_ why you refuse to be seen with me?"

Maria's cheeks flamed red at being called a bitch but seriously, any girl who thought they could get in Cullen's fucking good books by shunning me every fucking time they were in public was just - every name under the sun didn't suffice. She wanted Cullen. And Cullen wouldn't touch anything I'd already gotten my hands on.

"You have no fucking idea —"

"Oh, I think I get the picture, thanks," I spat sarcastically. "Get out of my fucking way."

Before she could respond, I shoved past her, striding angrily in the direction of Jefferson's classroom. I took a seat at the back of the room, ignoring Maria's hateful glare as she followed me inside at her own pace, choosing a seat next to Victoria.

As if I needed another fucking reason to smash Cullen's face in. Some little rational part of my brain, in a voice that sounded scarily like Peter, assured me that there were plenty of other girls out there who didn't care about a guy's fucking bank balance. Hell, there were girls out there that preferred my illustrious reputation to Cullen's because they thought I was dangerous and exciting. But that fucking rational side of my brain was tiny and the rest of me was seeing red.

He had fucking everything and he _still_ wanted more. I probably should have felt sorry for him, knowing that a girl like Maria was after his bank balance, but I really couldn't bring myself to give a shit.

Garrett waltzed in halfway through class, ignoring Jefferson as he made his way to the seat next to mine. He mouthed the word "joint" to me and I rolled my eyes, dropping my head onto the table to keep myself from laughing out loud. Garrett was the biggest fucking stoner in Washington. On an ordinary day, Garrett was a bit of a pussy when it came to school and teachers and authority and shit but after a joint, he mellowed out completely and coasted through the day with an 'I could give a shit' attitude.

I briefly thought about having him hook me up, but then I remembered that I had no cash to pay him with, which, in turn, reminded me that I was supposed to be job hunting.

After class, I caught up with Jacob Black as he was heading for his next class.

"Hey, Black," I called, stopping him in the middle of the courtyard. Jacob swung around, his brow creased in a frown as he appraised my innocent expression. I really wished people would stop expecting the worst every time I called their name.

I mean, he hardly thought I'd take _him_ on did he? He was fucking huge. I don't know what the hell they fed the kids down on the reservation, but any of the guys from the rez who attended school here were almost seven feet tall and built like tree trunks.

"Yeah?" Jacob asked warily.

"You don't know if your dad's hiring at the garage, do you?" I asked calmly, trying to keep my stance from looking defensive.

"I don't think so, man. Sorry?" He looked a little confused, like he hadn't expected my question.

"It's okay." I shrugged. "Thanks anyway."

"No problem." He nodded, offering me quick smile. "I heard Newton saying his parents are looking for people, though. You could try there?"

I nodded gratefully but the civil moment was ruined when Paul appeared out of nowhere. Paul was the runt of the pack but he was still fucking vicious. He looked like a pirate or something today with the plaster over his eye and the massive bruise on the side of his jaw. He glared at me, hissing under his breath as he approached.

"Everything okay, Jake?" he muttered, his eyes screaming bloody murder at me.

Jacob shrugged, readjusting his bag on his shoulder. "I'm late for class. See you guys later."

He turned and left, not wanting to get involved.

I followed after him before Paul could say anything. He was obviously still fucking bitter and I really didn't need a rematch going down on my record. Lowe would love nothing more than to have me expelled on my first day back.

Aw, hell it wasn't even midday yet.

There were still several more hours left to make his dream a reality.


	3. The Spoilt One

**Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight. I do, however, own the plot of this fanfiction.**

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**3. The Spoilt One  
_Beta'd by Fragile Human_  
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**Edward.**

"You're up early." Alice eyed me suspiciously as she skipped into the kitchen, looking more like a fucking hooker than she did a 16-year-old school girl. I scowled as I eyed her appearance, one brow cocked.

"I didn't know Slut Barn sold school uniforms," I quipped.

Alice rolled her eyes, blowing wisps of black hair back from her eyes. "How witty of you, brother."

"I try," I responded dryly. "You know Carlisle isn't going to let you set foot outside the house in that."

"We'll see." Alice smiled angelically, ruffling my hair as she skipped past me to the fridge. I don't know how she got away with half the shit she wore. While she wore the standard Forks High uniform, it looked like it had been designed for someone a lot younger and less developed than she was. Although, she was quite dainty for her age. Her hair was pitch black today, with neon pink streaks. She'd gone through an auburn phase over the summer but she decided to try out something new for the start of her junior year of high school. I couldn't remember the last time her hair had been her natural color — blond.

I sighed, putting my head down on the countertop as Alice flitted around behind me, fixing up some cereal. My head ached like a motherfucker and all I wanted to do was crawl into bed and just sleep for a week. The only thing that kept me going was the anticipation of seeing the realization dawn in Whitlock's eyes when Yorkie was discovered.

"What are you smirking about?" Alice paused, the spoon halfway to her mouth, as she eyed me suspiciously.

"Nothing," I lied.

"You did something," she pressed.

"No, I didn't."

"Yeah, you fucking did. You've got that look in your eyes."

"What look? And don't fucking swear. You know Esme hates that shit."

"Hi, kettle, meet pot. And the _look_."

I stared at her indifferently until she rolled her eyes, dropping her spoon into her cereal.

"Why do you hate him so much?" she demanded.

"Who?"

"Jasper."

"Like that fucking needs an explanation."

"Yeah, actually, it does." Alice folded her arms crossly, waiting for an explanation.

"What does?" Both of us looked up as Carlisle strode into the kitchen, fixing his blond hair with a comb. The action was hopeless, however — like all Cullen men, his hair couldn't be tamed, and it remained a tousled mess. I don't even know why he bothered trying to smooth it down. If it got half the reaction that mine did, there was nothing fucking wrong with having sex hair.

"Alice wants to know why Jasper Whitlock is an asshole," I explained.

Carlisle's face immediately darkened. He dropped the comb on the counter, reaching for the fresh pot of coffee that I'd left beside the sink. "That boy is nothing but trouble, Alice. Stay away from him."

I smirked at Alice behind Carlisle's back but she looked unsatisfied with our father's explanation. I really didn't fucking get it, but then, she _was_ a girl and girls tended to sympathize with bad boys or some shit like that. I'd lost count of the amount of pussy I'd lost because of that impoverished freak.

"Eighty per cent of his reputation is Edward's fault," Alice pointed out.

"Hey!" I exclaimed indignantly.

"Oh, shut up! You _know_ —"

"And who fucking planted marijuana in my locker? Do you know how fucking hard that was to get out of? That incident paid for the entire Cullen wing of the fucking library — and I don't even fucking _read_!"

Alice groaned, sensing defeat. "You provoked him," she said half-heartedly.

"Yeah, egging his car was _real_ provocation," I muttered sarcastically.

"You were just being immature," Carlisle agreed. "What _he_ did was serious."

"Will you stop?" Alice demanded. "This is _your_ fault for encouraging Edward. You and Jackson were best friends once; why can't you show _some_ consideration for his son? The _Chief_ does!"

"Don't talk to me like that, Alice!" Carlisle said angrily. Alice's mouth snapped shut, unused to Carlisle pulling the "father" card. Carlisle went back to pouring his coffee as if his outburst hadn't been anything out of the ordinary, but really, when you grow up with nannies and shit while your father spent day in and day out at the hospital, you were bound to be surprised when he actually started acting parental.

"I'm going to school," Alice announced irritably. She grabbed her pink shoulder bag, staring at me expectantly until I hauled myself off the stool and followed her outside to the garage.

"Why do you give a shit anyway?" I unlocked the Volvo, propping my elbows up on the roof as I watched Alice practically skip around to the passenger side.

"I don't know." Alice sighed, scraping her hair back from her face distractedly. "Haven't you ever wondered why Dad hates the Whitlocks so much? I mean, you've seen the photographs. They used to be best friends, the three of them. And why the fuck do you have to be so cruel?"

"Because Jasper's a faggot." I rolled my eyes. "Just get in the fucking car. And I think the fact that Jackson Whitlock left this fucking town without a fucking word is reason enough for Dad to hate him. Who does _that_ to their friends?"

Alice huffed, obviously not expecting me to have a coherent answer to her question, and climbed into the Volvo. I slid inside, shoving the keys in the engine while she flipped through the presets on the radio. She settled on some generic rock station, her lips compressed into a thin line as she turned to stare out the window.

When we arrived in the Forks High School parking lot, she had her belt unfastened and the door open before I even had a chance to hunt down my spare pack of cigarettes.

I knew that she wouldn't stay angry with me for long but I still felt a pang of guilt as I watched her storm across the parking lot, though God knew why. I loved my sister and all, but her charitable nature was a fucking nuisance. Why did she give a shit about the Whitlocks at all? She _knew_ that fucking Jasper gave as good as he got.

Still, maybe we'd gone a step too far.

I fished out the cigarettes and my lighter and lit up a stick, taking a long, thoughtful drag before I grabbed my school bag from the back seat and climbed out of the car.

"Please tell me that is your handiwork." I glanced up, my lips automatically curving into a grin as James Caldwell sauntered up to my car, his arm slung around whatever hoe he was fucking this week.

Victoria Martinez?

Good grief, he was _still_ with her? I had nothing against relationships, but some girls were only meant for one thing, and James was hopeless at telling the difference.

The redhead glared at me, probably because my opinion of her was written all over my face, and leaned into James as they approached.

"Is what my handiwork?" I asked, pulling the cigarette out of my mouth.

"The statue of Benedict Newton."

I smirked. "I have no fucking idea what you're talking about."

"If that's how you want to play it," James grinned. "Anyway, I heard that Emmett was looking for you. You know how eager he is to get football practice started."

"Ugh, football," Victoria huffed. "I'll see you later, baby." She fisted her hand in James's hair, pulling his head down for a kiss, before she turned and walked across the lot.

I watched her leave before I turned to James, my brow cocked incredulously. "Are you fucking whipped or what?"

James scowled at me. "Fuck off, Cullen. I'm not the one crawling back to Rosalie fucking Hale every time she bats an eyelid."

I rolled my eyes. "Rosalie and I are finished, remember? We're just friends now."

"Friends with benefits from what I heard."

"Well, you heard wrong." I pursed my lips, lifting the cigarette to my mouth. James eyed me doubtfully, but he didn't argue with me.

I knew exactly what James had heard, because Alice had been mouthing off.

Again.

It wasn't my fucking fault that we both happened to keep getting drunk at the same parties and falling into bed together for old time's sake. I wouldn't exactly call it friends with benefits because that suggested a certain amount of premeditation, but it wasn't _just friends_ either. Rosalie was… Rosalie. She was the closest thing to a girlfriend I would ever come close to having in Forks.

"Come on. I wanna see Whitlock's face when he gets carted off by Lowe." James started walking across the lot and I followed behind, winking at a group of sophomore girls standing around on the footpath. They started giggling and whispering amongst each other and I had to resist the urge to roll my eyes.

Girls were so easy.

"Caldwell! Cullen!" Both James and I stopped at the grounds' entrance, waiting for the Moretti brothers to catch up. Demetri and Felix were only eighteen but both of them owned a pretty successful garage that catered to the wealthy motherfuckers of Forks. Their skills with cars was amazing and the only person they ever took on as an apprentice was Rosalie Hale, whose enthusiasm for cars almost surpassed their own. She'd been working with them over the summer to pay for her college tuition.

"What's up?" I asked.

"Just letting you guys know that we're open for business, if you know what I mean," Demetri offered. "We're trying not to let word get out because if Cheney's ass is made King again, I might try jumping off a bridge."

"Seconded," James agreed.

"Have you heard anything from Royce about location?" I asked as we approached the lawn.

"Not yet. Cheney's been bothering him about it so I guess we can expect something difficult. Cheney's gonna end up in a ditch somewhere, I can feel it," Felix grinned.

"And Whitlock's going to get the blame," James added. "If he survives _this_ shit, that is."

We all stopped under the shade of a weeping willow, watching the drama unfolding around the statue of Benedict Newton. Lowe was already sprinting across the lawn, making a beeline for Whitlock. I watched as Whitlock's face contorted in fury and his friend, Peter Reed, shoved him down onto the bench beside him, probably trying to stop the motherfucker from storming off after me.

I felt a surge of satisfaction as Lowe's hand landed on Whitlock's shoulder.

"He'll never make it to the race," James said confidently.

Whether or not Jasper Whitlock made it to Forks Street Racing was irrelevant — he had nothing to race in anyway. Forks Street Racing was a race held every year in Forks. Every junior and senior of Forks High School received a text the night before, informing them of the time and date of the race, and precautions were taken to keep the information out of the hands of the police. Ben Cheney had been crowned King last year and he'd won an iPod, a prize that the racers had voted on beforehand. But it wasn't the prize that every junior and senior dreamed of winning — it was the popularity and the status that came with it. Cheney had been dying for his five minutes of fame.

Normally, I didn't get involved in shit like that. My popularity was solid and I didn't need the hassle of having Carlisle pay to cover shit like that up if I got caught, but I was determined to enter this year, if only to wipe the smirk of Cheney's face. The guy was getting way too fucking arrogant.

The shrill bell rang out, prompting students to start migrating towards their classrooms before the second bell rang, announcing the beginning of the school year.

"So what's the game plan this year?" James asked as Demetri and Felix started heading in the direction of the school, discussing the latest car they were working on.

"What game plan?" I asked distractedly. I was watching Whitlock's walk of shame toward the school, Alice's voice echoing in my head.

"_Why the fuck do you have to be so cruel?"_

"Girls, dude." James rolled his eyes, like it was obvious.

"I thought you were whipped," I quipped.

James scowled. "Fuck off, Cullen. You know I'm only tappin' that shit because there's no other shit that needs tappin' with you around."

I smirked arrogantly at him.

"Anyway, I heard from Victoria — you know her dad works at the station? — that the Chief's long lost daughter showed up on his doorstep, like a week ago," James divulged. "_Finally_, some ass you have yet to taint."

"Is that a challenge?" I asked, cocking my brow.

"Seriously, Cullen, just fuck off. It's about time some of us got some around here."

I rolled my eyes, ignoring his statement. Lowe and Whitlock had disappeared into the building and I knew that it was only minutes before the Chief was bound to show up. The Chief was probably the only authority figure in Forks who didn't give a flying fuck how much money my family was worth. Trouble was trouble to him, and if he could, he'd have me incarcerated before I could even breathe the word "guilty".

It was for that reason that his and Carlisle's friendship had fallen by the wayside after Jackson left. The distance between them had only increased over time and now they barely even said "hello" to each other in passing. Not that Carlisle cared. His current close friends were all high profile doctors and moved in very different circles than Charlie Swan.

"So what shit have you planned for Whitlock this year, if he survives this?" James asked excitedly. His short attention span was starting to give me whiplash.

"We'll see," I said noncommittally. I was fucking irritated that Alice's self-righteous attitude was starting to get to me. "I'll see you later."

I started towards the English building before James could say anything else. Today was starting to look like shit, which did not bode well for my senior year.

I was crossing the courtyard between the main building and the English building when I heard the Chief's cruiser pull up in the parking lot. The Chief himself strode across the tarmac, not noticing me.

I quickened my steps, taking a quick drag of my cigarette as I pulled open the door. Mason's English classroom was the second on the left and, from what I could hear, he was already mid-lecture as I approached the door.

I strode inside without knocking, my mood lifting slightly when I noticed Lauren Mallory sitting in the front row, sans black lacy underwear. Really, it was fucking perverted that Mason made her sit up the front when she forgot her panties so often, but at that moment, I wasn't fucking complaining.

"How nice of you to join us, Mr. Cullen," Mason's dry, smarmy voice interrupted my ogling and my eyes flicked up to his face, my lips quirking in amusement when I noticed his fixation on the cigarette in my hand. "Too busy defiling innocent girls to bother coming to class?"

Fucking pervert thought he was so fucking witty. I smirked, amused. "You know me so well, _sir_."

"Uh huh," Mason nodded, obviously not sharing my amusement. I was probably interrupting his Lauren-ogling. "Can you locate your seat, Mr. Cullen? Or do you need directions?"

_Ouch_. Really, he had no fucking cause for insulting my intelligence when I was pretty sure that my IQ was a lot higher than his. I didn't need money to get places, even if it came in handy. I briefly considered proving just how fucking stupid he was but I wasn't in the mood to be confrontational. I was still fucking pissed that Alice's words were sucking the enjoyment out of Whitlock's imminent expulsion.

I finished off my cigarette, dumping it in the bin by the door. Mason waited impatiently for me to find my seat and I was really looking forward to falling asleep or perving on Lauren's ass from behind before I realized that _my_ fucking seat was taken, and the only free seat was the one next to it - the one that inconveniently cut off my view of Lauren's ass _and_ Stanley's tits.

Fucking hell, today was fucking shit.

I opened my mouth, about to tell whoever the fuck it was to fuck off, before I actually _looked_ at them and my mouth snapped shut.

Mother-of-all-that-is-fucking-holy. The girl, whoever the fuck she was, looked so uncomfortable sitting there, her eyes downcast and her posture stiff, that I immediately felt chagrined, for some strange reason, over the fact that I had been about to curse at her.

My eyes flicked over her with interest, though I didn't recognize her. She was pretty in an understated way, her skin almost translucently pale and her dark, chocolate brown hair curled gently around her heart-shaped face.

A second later, realization dawned, and my chagrin was replaced by irritation once more. She was the Chief's fucking daughter. It was like there was somebody Upstairs playing some sort of cruel joke on me. Of course the Chief's daughter would be pretty. Of _course_ she'd be sitting in _my_ seat and of _course_ she'd be completely and totally off limits. I could probably get away with almost anything in this town but fucking the Chief's daughter?

Yeah, I wanted to _keep_ my balls, thank you.

I pulled out the chair next to hers, pulling out my copy of _To Kill A Mockingbird_, trying to focus on Mason's lecture. It didn't matter how fucking hard I tried anyway, I was still hyper aware of her sitting there. I really felt like someone was taunting me, dangling shit in front of my face and then pulling it away when I thought I had it in my grasp.

Almost like I couldn't take it anymore, my mouth opened before I could stop myself and words just spilled out like vomit. "So _you're _the Chief's daughter?"

_Of course she is, you fucking moron._

She glanced up, surprise flashing in her chocolate colored eyes. Her cheeks started to color the most delicious shade of red that I had ever seen.

_Aw, fuck. She's blushing._

I was half-stunned, half-amused that someone who looked like her could do something as innocent as blush when I hadn't even said something remotely sexual.

"That's me," she sighed in a low, clear voice, looking a little flustered as she averted her eyes back to her tattered book. "Let me guess: _you're _the football captain?"

_Merciful Lord, she even lacks the breathy, bubblegum voice that seventy-five per cent of the teenage female population possess. _

"That's me," I responded, not even thinking. "I'm Edward Cullen." My brain had shifted into automatic.

"Bella," she answered. Did she sound _disappointed?_

_Think fast, Cullen. Say something._

I opened my mouth.

_Anything. _

Her eyes were really freakin' deep. I'd always thought that brown eyes were depthless.

_Just ONE FUCKING SENTENCE._

"Do you know that means 'beautiful' in —"

_Moron._

She grimaced. "Please don't."

"What?" It was like I'd suddenly regained movement of my limbs, after being paralyzed.

There was _definitely_ disappointed reflected in her eyes now. "_Your name means 'beautiful' in Italian?"_ she scoffed. "Like I haven't heard _that_ one before."

"It was an observation, not a line." _Like hell it wasn't, Cullen. You're a motherfucking moron._ "But if you _want_ me to flirt with you…"

Now that I'd regained some semblance of control of my brain, I attempted damage control. No one needed to know that my attempts at flirtation had become so fucking lame.

"I don't," Bella said.

"Ms. Swan?" Both of us jumped, startled, as Mason called on her. I glanced at Mason, registering the annoyance on his face. "Have you something you'd would like to add? Obviously, it must be important if it's distracting you?"

"I was just saying that Mayella Ewell destroyed an innocent man in order to hide her own desire for him," Bella retorted, her tone annoyed, and I blinked in surprise. She was fucking intelligent. "You said that her feelings were genuine but I think that she desired the forbidden aspect rather than Tom Robinson himself. Obviously, she couldn't have wanted him _that_ bad if she was able to do what she did."

Both Mason and I were stunned, but unlike Mason, I had the ability to multitask, yet another reason why my IQ ranked higher than his.

"And I told Swan that she's looking at it the wrong way," I chimed in smoothly. "Desire and love are not the same thing and they don't make people act in the same way. If Mayella had _loved_ Tom, maybe she couldn't have done what she did. But she only _desired_ him."

Bella turned to stare blatantly at me, shock flitting across her face.

And _relief_?

"That is… one person's interpretation," Mason said, but he looked a little perturbed that two of his students had made more perceptive observations than he had in all his years of teaching. He went back to his lecture but I could feel Stanley's eyes, amongst others, boring into my skull.

"I think you'd be surprised at the lengths that people go to just for desire," Bella muttered quietly, her eyes on Mason as she spoke.

Surprise surged through me. "I sincerely doubt it."

"I don't know." She put down her book, glancing warily at Mason before she turned to face me. Her expression was eager, guileless. It made me feel like the big bad wolf or some shit like that. "I bet you would, if you knew what I meant. I'm not talking about just desire. I'm… have you ever wanted somebody so bad that you got tunnel vision? That absolutely nothing else — and I mean _nothing_ — registered?"

I smirked at her, realizing she was one of those closet romantics who preferred to live within the pages of a book than reality. "Have _you_?" I baited her.

I was awarded with her blush as her cheeks flushed with color and I stared at her with renewed interest, my eyes raking over her face. Only I didn't stop at her throat, which was probably considered impolite, but I really couldn't help myself. She was so fucking delicious looking. Her red sweater was fuckably tight, accentuating the slope of her breasts and her legs were milky white from the hem of her skirt to the fringe of her white stockings.

_So fucking edible._

"No," she answered, the hint of a tremor in her voice. "But that doesn't mean it isn't possible."

"Ms. _Swan_!" Mason's impatient voice broke me out of my visual daydream and I fought to suppress a scowl. Bella flushed again when people turned to stare at us and abruptly shut up. She didn't speak to me again for the rest of the class.

When the bell rang, I followed the rest of the class out of the classroom, a little disappointed that she hadn't continued our stimulating conversation and I was so distracted by the image of her fucking delicious blush that I didn't even realize Whitlock was after storming through the doors of the English building until he yelled after me.

"HEY, CULLEN!"

My eyes raked over Jasper Whitlock, my mouth curling into a smirk as I remembered how much he fucking brought all this shit on himself, Alice's words be damned. He was wearing a black beanie and his eyes were shadowed from lack of sleep, giving him the look of someone who robbed convenience stores for a living. He really had no fucking clue how deep a hole he dug for himself without my help.

Before I could voice my thoughts, he suddenly flew at me and fucking shoved me backwards against the classroom door. Pain ricocheted down my spine and I was momentarily winded. His expression practically radiating hatred as he sneered at me.

"Give me one fucking reason why I shouldn't smash that pretty fucking face of yours," he spat, adjusting his grip so that he was fisting the front of my shirt instead.

"Shit, Jasper, don't —" I heard Maria Hall's worried voice from behind Jasper, but I was more preoccupied with the murderous glint in Jasper's eye. So he thought he could fucking embarrass me like this? The motherfucker had another thing coming —

Maria grabbed Whitlock's arm, but she might as well have been a fucking feather for all the strength she possessed.

"Stay out of it, Maria," Jasper hissed angrily.

I smirked at him, the burn for revenge beginning to surge through me. "I have no fucking idea what you're talking about."

I lunged for his shoulders, attempting to push him off, but he slammed me back against the door and my head hit the wood. And that shit fucking _hurt_.

I winced, my vision swimming dizzily. _Fucking hell_.

"Let me refresh your memory," Jasper growled. "You tied fucking Yorkie to a statue and paid him off in an attempt to get me expelled before the fucking year had even begun."

I shrugged, staring at him with cold amusement as anger began to bubble below the surface, strong and potent. "Sorry, dude. Doesn't ring a bell."

"MR. WHITLOCK!" Jasper's head snapped around, toward Mr. Jefferson. "WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING? !"

Whitlock let go of me immediately and I slumped against the door, reflexively rubbing my head. I winced as my fingers encountered a lump and an arrow of pain shot through my skull.

"Nothing," Whitlock spat. He shot one last glare in my direction before he spun around, pulling open the door of the building roughly and striding angrily out into the courtyard.

"Are you alright, Mr. Cullen?" Mr. Jefferson held out his hand and I grasped it, pulling myself up.

I nodded carefully. "I think I need an ice-pack."

"What class have you next?"

"Spanish with Ms. Geoff," I recalled.

"You go to the infirmary, then, Mr. Cullen. I'll make sure you're excused," Mr. Jefferson offered generously.

"Thank you." I picked up my bag, slinging it over my shoulder as I started toward the doors, grimacing as the cool air hit my overheated face.

"Edward!" I glanced over my shoulder as a tall, statuesque blond pulled open the doors behind me, her ice blue eyes wide with worry. She caught up with me, her lips pursing as she reached up without preamble, running the tips of her fingers through my hair. When she encountered the lump at the back of my skull, she swore. "Hey, are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Rose." I dislodged her grip, scowling. My voice was irritable, but she knew it wasn't directed at her.

"Was it you? This morning?" Rosalie asked pointedly.

I sighed. "Yeah, you fucking know it was."

"Jesus, Edward."

"Don't fucking start. He deserved it."

"I don't fucking care if he deserved it or not," Rosalie retorted. "He could have given you a concussion back there. What about next time?"

"I don't know." I winced, my head starting to pound. "Look, I'll talk to you later. I need an ice-pack and some Tylenol."

"Okay." Rosalie eyed me warily. "See you, then."

I leaned down, kissing her quickly on the cheek, before turning and striding off in the direction of the infirmary. Being friends with Rosalie was a lot fucking easier than dating her — for one thing, I wasn't subjected to her hissy fits every time she walked in on me with another girl, which had happened far too frequently for my liking.

When I walked into the infirmary, the school nurse, Mrs. Stanley, rushed over immediately, fussing over me the way Esme did when I was in a mood. I explained the situation and she let me relax on one of the infirmary beds for awhile while I texted James and told him to keep an eye on Whitlock.

The drugs might have dulled the pain, but they didn't fucking dull the anger.

Whitlock was going to pay.

Again.


End file.
